


Contradiction

by azure-horizons (DeadLoaf)



Series: Immortality and Fragility [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Based on Greek Mythology, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, questionable methods of deities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24436804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadLoaf/pseuds/azure-horizons
Summary: It’s not often that Aphrodite bears a grudge, and even then, any insults to him and those he protects were mostly dealt with by the god himself. But if he’s feeling particularly cruel…Well, Ares has no problem diving down towards the siren’s call.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: Immortality and Fragility [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764826
Comments: 15
Kudos: 98





	Contradiction

**Author's Note:**

> I am obsessed and utterly fascinated by mythology, Greek being one of my early favorites.
> 
> Here's my chance to combine my love of both mythology and Dick Grayson.

The aroma rouses him from his slumber. Suffocating in its thickness, hair-raising, and mouth-watering – a scent intimately familiar with his every being.

Bloodlust.

But this, it is tinged with a unique bittersweet quality he could almost taste, a hint of spice left by an anger so potent yet tightly controlled. This could only come not from a battlefield, but from a god’s call. A call for the war god.

Slade closes his eye and lets the scent surround him, then calls upon his power to travel to the source. Heavy boots land on grassy ground leading to a black and blue stone path.

He walks faster, each stride confident in its familiarity with the place, letting the bloodlust lead him to a wide, open pavilion. Stretched out on his stomach on top of a long cushioned bench is a creature of exquisite beauty and deadly temptation, the god of Love himself. The god is gazing into a large golden basin atop a short column, dainty fingers swirling the surface of the water.

A blink of an eye and the other stands before him, midnight chiton flowing loose until his bare feet and deep azure girdle around his waist. His presence calls a gale of fresh rose petals and crushed belladonnas.

Slade glides a pale calloused finger down sun-kissed skin to grasp a hand and place a delicate kiss at back of it.

“You called, little bird?”

The love god smiles, his free hand moving up to run through short fluffy locks and down to caress Slade’s cheek. “Ares,” he breathes out, tone dark and rich as wine.

Slade involuntarily shivers at the sound of his godly name. The black eyepatch melts into nothing, revealing a burning flame within an endless void. Layers of armor revert to a knee-length white and gold chlamys clasped at his right shoulder.

“Aphrodite,” he rumbles in the same tone, pleased at the delighted sparkle in the love god’s ever-shifting eyes. Aphrodite leads him to the bench, nudging him to lie down on his back while Aphrodite drapes himself over the war god’s body.

“What has got you frazzled on such a fine day?” Ares asks, running his fingers through tousled dark locks.

Twin pools swirl into a maelstrom of colors, almost visible sparks of hatred cloak the love god like a second skin. Each sting of a spark and a whiff of bloodlust sending a pleasurable jolt throughout his body.

“The King of Corinth dared taint my domain.” Each word is spoken softly, dripping with venom, sparks upping their sting with every touch. 

It’s not often that Aphrodite bears a grudge, and even then, any insults to him and those he protects were mostly dealt with by the god himself. But if he’s feeling particularly cruel…

Well, Ares has no problem diving down towards the siren’s call.

“What do you have in mind?”

The swirls of color darken to black, like tunnels leading down to Erebus. Lush lips stretch into a sardonic grin, “Perhaps it is time for the first prince to finally step up.”

“Caiaphas against Ampelios?” Ares guffaws. “Your humor still astounds me, little bird! As he is now, the boy will fall at the first strike.”

Aphrodite is still grinning and the fire in Ares’ eyes burn brighter with mischief. “Unless…?”

“I require a fallen blade, once bathed in blood but untainted by death.”

He tilts the love god's head up by a finger, "Are you certain? Your father will surely be...displeased."

"Demeter has no say on anything that falls under my domain." He leans close, sharp eyes and alluring perfume invading Ares' senses, "Unless of course, you are scared?"

Ares chuckles low as he sits up carefully. This earns a slight pout from the love god who follows suit, one hand dropping down to land on a barely covered muscular thigh.

He closes his eyes, gathers his aura and lets the visions of fights and battlefields of centuries past play out. Countless bloodshed still fresh and vivid, each strike of his weapon feeling like mere moments ago, Enyo and their children completing the macabre masterpiece. Palm hovering above his burning eye, he gathers his aura and unsheathes a sword from the emanating glow.

A gladius, light and unmarred. Ares holds it out in his hands, “From a princess, struck by a _dory_ in her haste to save her lover.”

“Perfect.”

Aphrodite takes the gladius, his other hand tangling with one of Ares’ own. “Corinth is in need of a new king and this is Caiaphas’ chance to prove his worth. May I?”

Ares smiles, fond and indulgent. “Go ahead.”

With no hesitation, the love god stabs the gladius through their clasped hands, golden ichor dripping down the blade. After being thoroughly drenched in liquid gold, Aphrodite retrieves it, their wounds healing immediately. Greek fire dances on Ares palm as he runs it down the length of the blade, heating the metal and letting it absorb the precious ichor.

The water in the basin bubbles up and a small fountain forms in the middle. From the mist and light from Apollo’s chariot forms a rainbow.

“Iris?”

The rainbow ripples like water, the translucent band expanding and gaining the texture of fine silk. The rainbow goddess, lovely and bright-haired, appears in a flare of long multi-colored chiton. “Aphrodite…Ares,” she says, light glassy eyes narrowing at the latter.

Aphrodite straightens up and presents the gladius to the goddess, “Iris, do please send this sword to Morpheus and tell him to hand it to Elpis. I have heard his prayer, and with this weapon reforged in love and war, his brother shall be aided greatly.”

“You have my word.” With a snap of fingers, the gladius and the goddess dissolve in a flash of light. Perhaps she has forgone her usual chat with Aphrodite when she sensed the wild pulse of power around the god, Ares muses.

A lull settles in the air. The birds are chirping, the breeze is humming, the leaves are rustling – all a constant in this place, yet it’s as if a veil has settled around his person. Mere seconds.

There is no warning.

Ares moves out of the way as twin xiphoi stab the cushions where his chest used to be. Celestial bronze and stygian iron glinting, as beautiful and deadly as its owner. Aphrodite looks up, two crimson whirlpools and a mad grin, girdle bleeding red.

Summoning his spear, Ares lunges at Aphrodite, a mirroring expression in his face.

It goes on, a vicious dance of two domains so far apart but so intertwined. This, Ares always looks forward to. A facet of the youthful love god often unseen and forgotten, when his hatred seeps off like pus on a festering wound, and his vengeance is dealt with no remorse.

They wear no armor, heedless of their precious ichor spilling out of their wounds.

Ares fights like the fluctuating order and chaos within the battle field. He doesn’t choose whose blood he sheds, only the path to victory in his eyes. Each slash and thrust of his weapon, all with the need to win, to overpower.

But Aphrodite, he fights with intent and passion, the driving forces of true heroes. Clarity and emotion in every strike of a xiphos, not to seek an end, but to fulfill a purpose. Fluid and unpredictable.

Among Aphrodite’s lovers and admirers, the back-and-forth tug of his relationship with Aphrodite is one of some that sparks confusion and alarm among the council. Boundless love and untethered brutality. Compassion and cruelty.

As Ares ducks from a fatal swipe across his head, he is reminded of the lure that never fails to bring him back. The trickling hatred that fuels their strikes, grins turning deranged as liquid thrill flows throughout their body. Aphrodite’s distaste in his thirst for combat as well as his capability when engaging in one. He is gentle and kind, as well as intense and passionate – jarring in its contrast but oh so utterly captivating.

Twin blades prepare for a slash, Ares steps back enough for the attack to merely score a shallow x in his chest, dematerializes his weapon and grabs both of the love god’s wrist. He grunts at the retaliating kicks and swiftly manhandles the other to drop the xiphoi and proceeds to pin the smaller body to the ground with his bulk.

They proceed to the next part of their fight, a battle of tongues and teeth, bodies pressed close and hands freely roaming. Ares drinks in the pour of bloodlust, willingly gets drunk in it, and repays Aphrodite with ardor. Desire coats their every move. They bite, they scratch, they groan, and they moan.

Dewy grass and open sky become soft sheets and marble columns.

What was unrestrained violence turns into sensual frenzy. Hands sneaking under cloth to wander through naked skin and carefully unclasped and discarded garments. Hands capable of great ferocity rub gently down the length of a toned stomach and delicate shapely legs clamp in a bruising grip around a broad back.

They navigate the battlefield of lovers, dominating as well as surrendering to each other. They follow the tides of a drawn out war, mapping out vulnerable spots, staking claims on their territory. The silence is filled with their song, unique and only heard and relished by the other.

Artemis’ chariot is riding among the constellations when they settle into a pleasant calm. A lit brazier fills the spacious room with a dim glow.

The birds are chirping, the breeze is humming, the leaves are rustling. Ares feels the burn of a truly gratifying fight. Fights where winning is not a must, just a display of pure skill between seasoned warriors.

The bed is cool and soft against Ares’ back, so is the hand idly running up and down his bare chest. It stops to gently cup his cheek and he welcomes the languid kiss, more lip and tongue than teeth. Though he loves the thrill of a vicious battle, he also loves the taste of home – warriors decked in garlands, welcomed back in their family’s arms and the warmth of their little domain.

Crystalline blue meets fire, and Ares is quenched.

**Author's Note:**

> Just experimenting... :)


End file.
